


Free World, Home Always, Glory, Glory

by MellytheHun



Series: The Deadlights Zine Series [6]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Bill Denbrough, Character Study, Friendship, Friendship is Magic, Love, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Meta, Originally Posted Elsewhere, Prophetic Visions, Protective Bill Denbrough, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29834409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellytheHun/pseuds/MellytheHun
Summary: Bill, repentant in the Deadlights.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Series: The Deadlights Zine Series [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862683
Kudos: 12





	Free World, Home Always, Glory, Glory

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS
> 
> TW: survivor's guilt, trauma, lots and lots of trauma, race-based fear, religious-based fear, gender-based fear, mentions of homophobia, mentions of antisemitism, mentions of parental abuse, mentions/implications of sexual abuse/harassment, fat phobia, hate crimes, abandonment, childhood trauma, self-hate, blood
> 
> Title inspired by the song 'Godspeed' by James Blake.

**Bill**

The summer when Georgie was only three years old, he came running into the backyard where Bill, Richie, and Stan were playing, and told Bill that a cat was drowning in the neighbor’s pool. 

Without a thought, Bill had set off in a run for the neighboring yard, Georgie and his friends behind him, and then he scaled the wall of the pool, jumped in, fully clothed, grabbed the exhausted tabby cat, and helped it back onto the ground; it shook itself off, laid down, and panted for a while. 

Stan looked after it, telling them all that if it began breathing out of its mouth too heavily, they ought to take it to an animal hospital, and it was that day that Georgie really got it in his head that Bill could rescue anyone, or anything.

He’d gotten it in his head that, as long as he could call for Bill, that Bill would come running, and he’d save the day.

Bill knew that, because Georgie started relying on Bill to gently relocate spiders back outside, to usher squirrels safely across the road, to help moths make it off the patio, or lost dogs find their homes, even though he was perfectly capable of reading the dogs’ tags himself.

He wonders if Georgie tried running to him, like he had that summer day with the cat, if he thought Bill would just innately know he was in danger, and come save him. 

He wonders if Georgie was hurt that Bill didn’t arrive in a flash, that Bill didn’t come to the rescue. He wonders if Georgie was confused, or betrayed.

It’s all Bill wants to do, is find Georgie. He doesn’t really mind if he dies in the process. He knows how Derry is, he knows no one will remember, or care, but he needs this. 

Georgie thought he was a hero, but Bill knows he’s not.

He sees how Eddie’s mother treats him, he can plainly see that Eddie isn’t totally safe with her, that she mistreats him, makes him scared, paranoid, and unhappy, but Bill doesn’t have the tools to save Eddie. 

Sometimes, in his darkest thinkings, Bill worries that he’ll be visiting Eddie in a hospital someday, wired up to machines keeping him alive because there were too many pills, or there were unnecessary surgeries.

He can’t rescue Eddie from a place he doesn’t want to be rescued from, even when Eddie sees how bad it is. Eddie is trapped in a way that Bill can’t save him from. He thinks if Georgie were there, if Georgie could understand the nuances - he’d still be disappointed.

He sees how badly Stan is picked on at school, how his locker, books, and projects have been vandalized and destroyed, and he knows Stan is in danger, at school, in Derry, but he can’t be there all the time to tell Bowers he sucks, or to help scrub away hateful symbols. 

And he worries, if he’s not there to curse out every idiot that asks Stan if his father owns a bank, or if he wears his hair like he does because he sprouts horns from his forehead, that something truly unforgivable will happen; that he’ll never find Stan, he'll never see Stan bruised, battered, and spitting blood, crawling to safety, needing help and not being able to raise his voice enough to scream for it. 

There are too many hateful people, there are too many dangers, too many times he can’t be everywhere at once, he only wants to keep Stan safe from the nonsensical, sometimes insane hatred, but he can’t. He fails Stan more than he can admit out loud.

Bill notices the way Richie cares after Eddie, and he’s not totally sure - he’s not absolutely positive about what Richie wants, what Richie is like - that way - but, he gets the feeling that Richie likes Eddie as more than a friend. It’s something about the way Richie’s eyes become when Eddie laughs at one of his jokes. Still, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

He sometimes thinks that Richie talks too loudly about how big his dick is, about how he wants to fuck girls, about what girls are hot and which aren’t - and that it’s putting more of a target on his back than if he were to just keep quiet, but Bill is too scared to say anything. 

He can’t say it out loud, because if he’s wrong he could lose another brother, but if he doesn’t say anything, then he might be leaving his brother alone in very deep, treacherous waters. 

Boys like that get strung up in Derry, boys like that don’t live long, they wind up in truck beds til they're dumped in shallow graves, they wind up displayed grotesquely in the street, abandoned by the highway, they wind up on missing posters -

He’s too scared. He’s too scared of offending Richie if he’s wrong, too scared of Richie recognizing similar desires in him if he brings it up at all, too scared of being right, and not being able to protect Richie from heartbreak, or harassment, or something far, far worse. 

He sees the bruises on Beverly, of course, but she doesn’t want to talk about them, and he can’t make her.

He can’t do anything to save her from her father even if she did want to talk about it, same as he can’t do anything to save Eddie from his mother. 

He thinks Beverly is so lovely, she’s so beautiful, she’s so much fun to be around, and she’s so brave, he likes her so much he sometimes thinks his heart will explode from all the like he feels for her, but he can’t rescue her. 

If, in the dead of the night, someone took her, someone found her, and cannibalized her in a way that still left her flesh in tact, he’d be useless. He wouldn’t know, she wouldn’t tell him, and any new bruise would be just the same as any old bruise, he can hardly tell the difference, and it’s useless -  _ he’s _ useless.

He can’t make good the things in her life that are bad, he can’t make right all that’s wrong. He can’t make the other girls at school just  _ shut up _ , he can’t make the men in town stop  _ leering _ , he can’t be all that Beverly needs, like a hero could be.

He knows the way the bullies at school hunt Ben like he’s sport, and with how quiet Ben is, it’s hard to tell when he needs back-up, or when he might be miffed at the thought that he couldn’t stick up for himself. 

What if Bowers finds Ben off-guard again? What if he’s chased down, and sliced up like a deli meat? Bill knows Ben puts up a good fight, but what if he can’t fight his way out? Bill worries for him too, worries he won’t be there when Ben needs him the most, and he’s so good to Bill, he’s so generous, and he’s so kind, Bill would never forgive himself.

Bill likes to think that Ben would ask him for help if he needed more, but he might not ask, because Ben is quiet, and shy, and very sweet, always worrying about imposing too much, and Bill can’t read his mind. Bill can’t tell how much of himself he should, or can insert into Ben’s life, if Ben would even want that. So, maybe he can’t actually help Ben at all.

And Bill sees Mike taking specific routes from the farm, through town, trying to keep himself safe, but nowhere near Derry is safe. Not for Mike. So much of everywhere is too unsafe for Mike, in ways that Bill will never understand, in ways he can’t understand even if he tried his hardest, and there are school bullies that Bill can throw sharp rocks at, but it’s not enough. It’s not enough to save Mike’s life.

There are folks in Derry that want to put their hands on Mike, folks that want to hurt him, tear him apart limb by limb, hang him from a tree, folks that don’t care how gentle he is, how sympathetic he is, how good, smart, and true, and loyal he is. There are people that would hang Mike’s head on their walls like a mounted deer, and every time Mike bikes away from them, Bill worries.

Georgie would think that Bill would be there any time Mike needed him, that Bill would somehow magically know if something awful happened, and that he’d get there in the knick of time to kiss away every hurt the way that Bill sometimes finds himself daydreaming about, but Bill doesn’t sleep well at night, wondering where Mike is, and if he’s really okay. 

He doesn’t really rest at all until he sees Mike again, in the flesh, and even then, he’s looking in all directions at all times, unsure where a new threat may come from, and entirely unsure if he could ever stop it from unfolding.

Bill can’t save them, he can’t protect them, he can’t imagine what use for him any of them have. Bill’s never been able to save anybody, that’s the truth. Not anybody that mattered, not when it mattered most.

_ “Because you weren’t there, Billy...” _

He couldn’t save Georgie, and he can’t save himself - not from the guilt, not from the clown, and he can feel the Losers, their holds on his forearm slipping, like they’re grappling at his bloody skin, and can’t get a hold of him -

Or, no, it’s his hold on  _ them  _ that’s loosening, because he doesn’t know if there’s a soft landing below, and God, he hopes there is, he just wants them all to be safe, to be happy, to be whole, and healthy, and he can’t make it right, he can’t be a hero - he only knows, all he’s ever known, is how to be a big brother, and he fucked that up as badly as a big brother can fuck anything up.

Maybe, if they all know what’s good for them, they’ll let his hold on them go limp. They’ll let him float.

They can handle themselves. They don’t need him. Not a one of them. He can’t offer any of them anymore than all the love in his heart, and he’s learned the hard way that his love can be as deep and boundless as the sea, but it can’t save a person, it can't save any of them.

Mike would be safer off without Bill around, anyway.

“Let go,” Bill tells the hands holding his arm; he can tell which hand belongs to whom just by nails and knuckles; he loves them all so much, he’s so scared, he doesn’t want them to think he’s safe to be around, or to follow, or to rely on, because he can’t be. 

He’s not good enough.

“I deserve this,” Bill tells the hands, “Please.”

To the thick hand around his wrist, Bill says, “Ben, it’s okay. Let go. I - I can’t help. I can’t do anything good. You’re a better friend to them than me.”

There's a beat of hesitation, but ultimately, Ben’s hand leaves his arm, and then he hones in on the dainty hand just past his wrist, “Beverly, I’m no g-good. I was supposed to be bbbb-better, but I’m not. I’m not who you think I am. Let me go.”

When nothing happens, Bill adds, "Beverly, it's what I w-want. Let go."

She hesitates like Ben did, but slowly, her fingers release their strain, and Bill feels himself slip further down into the dark.

The palest hand, nails trimmed neatly, it’s shaking, and Bill says to it, “Stan, I’m - I’m a bad friend. I forced you to look for Georgie with me, I p-p-p-put you in danger, and I can’t - I can’t do anything right, Stan. Let go.”

The hand doesn’t obey, and Bill feels tears build in his eyes, “please, Stan, let go. Y-You should be allowed to just enjoy the fucking summer. I-I didn’t even go to your Bar Mitzvah, I’m the worst, Stan, please, just let go.”

It’s abrupt, and shaky, reluctant, but the hand lets go, and the next one Bill focuses on has narrow, tan fingers.

“Eddie. Let me go. It’s better - it’s better if I’m gone. Cause then, no one can be disappointed. I can’t let anyone down if I’m not around, Eddie, and… and you deserve better, Eddie.”

Eddie doesn’t let go at first either, but Bill shakes his arm, and instructs him more forcefully, “let me go, Eddie! I’m too heavy, and you’re gonna dislocate your shoulder! Just let go!”

The hand vanishes, like it's been hurt, Bill slips further down, he gasps, looks down at the void below, and he wonders if the blood dripping from him into the dark is Georgie’s.

He looks back up to the hand nearest the crease of his elbow, it’s got a good, broad hold on him, and it’s got swirly knuckles.

“Let me go, Richie. You can protect yourself, I’m not a hero, I’m n-nobody. I’m nobody, Richie.”

The hand tightens its hold, and Bill’s tears finally fall, and he shouts, “let go, Richie! Let me go!”

The loving hand stays wrapped right where it is, unwilling to release him, and he sobs, trying to shake his arm loose, “Richie, please! Stop! I can’t - I can’t do it! I can’t do any of this anymore! I failed Georgie, and I’m gonna fail you! I can’t lose another b-brother, Richie, please, please just let go! Let me go! Let me go!”

Left without another option, Bill forces himself upward and bites Richie’s hand until he breaks the skin, and winds up sliding further down into the abyss, blood on his teeth.

The darkest hand on him has him at the perfect middle of his forearm. 

Mike’s hold is gentle, reliable, and Bill knows that grip would hold him for a million years, if it had to.

If he’d let it.

“Mikey…”

A shuddering breath rattles out of Bill’s chest, and he cries out, “please, Mike - please, I only - I only put you in m-m-more danger. I th-think I want more than - more than a friend is supposed to want, and it’s - I love you all so much, but I love you special, and different, Mike, and different’s deadly in Derry, so please, please just let go…”

No answer comes from above, and Bill can only see up to Mike’s elbow, and same as Richie, the hand is not scared off.

“I’ve already been a bad friend, don’t you get it? D-Don’t you get it? I couldn’t even protect you from _myself_ , Mike! Let me go! I want to go, Mike! I wanna go where Georgie is, I know he’s expecting me, I know he must’ve c-c-called for me, and I wasn’t there, and I couldn’t save him, and I won’t be able to save you from me, Mikey! Please! Let go! Let go! Let go!”

Falling isn’t as scary as Bill thought it might be, but the way he can’t catch his breath from the crying is frightening, and whatever he lands in is much thicker than water.

He gasps as he’s submerged, unfamiliar and unwelcome hands grab at him, pulling him deeper down into a rushing river of blood, it fills his lungs up -

Something warm, like a tear, brushes Bill’s cheekbone, but he doesn’t feel himself crying anymore - then it touches the dimple in his cheek, and he turns his head to see what’s over there, and he’s awake. 

He was awake before, he thinks, but not like this. Not really awake. Awake some different way.

Mike has a big hand cradling the back of his head, he’s kissing Bill’s cheek so gently, then pressing their foreheads together, all while the Losers stand by, some of them touching Bill’s back, and arms, wanting to be near, not knowing if it’s okay yet.

“You okay, Bill?” Mike asks softly.

“You saved me,” Bill replies breathlessly.

“Losers gotta stick together,” is all Mike answers, and Bill reaches out for his friends with trembling hands.

They pile on him fast, holding him, crying, smiling, crushing Mike and him together, and it feels good to touch them all, to secure his grip on them all, wrap them all in his arms, as far as they’ll stretch. 

He knows they must have all worked together to get to him, despite the big fight, to come save him - he hopes to himself that, someday, he can return the favor. He’s so scared he’ll fall short.

He’s so scared he already has.


End file.
